


Dangerous Decision

by Lucyemers



Category: Endeavour (TV)
Genre: Angst, Episode Related, Episode Tag, Episode: s02e03 Sway, Female Friendship, Friendship, Gen, Missing Scene, These three women were definitely in this department store at the same time
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2017-04-20
Updated: 2017-04-20
Packaged: 2018-10-21 04:38:40
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 925
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/10677855
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Lucyemers/pseuds/Lucyemers
Summary: "Strange, the small things you remember."





	Dangerous Decision

**Author's Note:**

  * For [Jay_eagle](https://archiveofourown.org/users/Jay_eagle/gifts).



> For a prompt on Tumblr, "It's a dangerous decision."

Burridges was at its busiest in the middle of the day. The neighboring cafes and pubs made for an attractive lunch stop, and often those on their lunch breaks or wives looking to do a bit of shopping would pair a meal with a quick walk round the department store. Luisa always liked to take a moment to watch the customers when she could do so incognito, when she might be just another customer herself and engage in a few moments of light conversation to pass the time, unburdened by the need to sell something. 

Today she was watching a young lady stare inscrutably at a scarf in men’s wear. She sets it down, starts to walk away, turns back around and glances again, letting her fingers drift through the fringe a bit, lost in thought. 

“It's a lovely scarf”, Luisa says stepping a bit closer. The girl starts out of her thoughts before smiling up at her warmly, with a bit of an embarrassed glance to the floor at having been caught in the throws of such indecision. “Is it a gift?” “For your husband? Or boyfriend?” Luisa continues, brightly, though she always winces a bit at the English term “boyfriend” such a casual word for something so intimate. 

“No, nothing like that.” The young lady bites her lip for a second before stepping closer, warming to the topic, as if she has been waiting for someone to ask, and says, “I haven’t known him long at all really.” The smile she’s trying to hide belies the nonchalance in her voice and Luisa, feeling an unexpected tenderness towards her, lies a hand on her shoulder, gives her a knowing look and says, “It does not take knowing a person for long, for them to mean the world to you.”

Now the young lady is blushing in earnest as she presses the wrinkles out of the scarf and lies it down with a note of finality. “Well...much too early to be thinking of gifts anyway.”

“The first gift is a dangerous decision.” Luisa replies with a bit of mock gravity in her tone. The girl giggles a bit as she shakes her head. 

“She’s right you know”, says a voice from behind them. “The first gift’s very important” says a woman in a plaid coat and floral silk scarf, scanning a bit fussily through a nearby table of ties. She about Luisa’s age and has a sort of efficient elegance about her. She moves toward them and gestures at the scarf saying, “let’s see it, love.” 

The girl obliges, picking up the scarf and spreading it out delicately between her hands, holding it up for inspection. The older woman gives it a quick once over and presses her shoulder warmly, giving an easy smile and says, “It’ll do nicely. Don’t you think?” she asks Luisa. 

“It’s perfect” she replies grandly. 

“What was yours?” the girl asks a bit impetuously, “Your first gift, I mean to your husband?” The woman tucks her hair behind her ear absently, her brow furrowed before exclaiming, “A poorly knitted jumper!” She claps a hand to her mouth, barely suppressing a laugh. “How could I forget? I’ve been regretting those dropped stitches for over twenty-five years”, she remarks matter-of-factly.

“Strange the small things you remember”, she says catching Luisa’s glance. A bit disarmed by such kind eyes, Luisa almost involuntarily responds with a quiet “yes”. The girl puts the scarf back down before saying shyly, “I’ll think about it.” She thanks them both for the advice and is on her way.

Luisa is left for just a moment on her own with the other woman who says confidingly, “It never gets easier picking out gifts, not even after twenty-five years.” 

She is impressed by her easy conversation with both herself and the younger woman, as if she’s known each of them for ages instead of seconds. She hasn’t made many friends since her husband died, and even the women she knew when they were married were friendly acquaintances, wives of men her husband knew, nothing near the closeness of the women she knew (the dearest of friends, and of course, her sister) before everything in her life changed. 

Her eyes dart to the clock on the opposite wall. She has just enough time for a quick coffee or even just a brief chat. “Would you like me to help you? I work here but have some time, before I go back to the hosiery department.”

“That’s good of you”, the woman responds, "but I’m waiting for my daughter.” 

Another day, maybe, Luisa thinks to herself as she watches her stroll off to look at hats. 

Later that evening, Luisa sits, staring at the coffee pot on the stove, trying to will herself to stand up, fill it with water, turn on the gas. 

After the events of the day, after one glance had cut her open leaving her barely a sliver of the person she was when she woke this morning, she has forgotten all about the interaction over the scarf, the brief conversation, the potential friendship. 

But somehow, with her eyes closed, scent of pine about her, the relentless sun beating down, all the while alone in her cold flat, the woman’s words have stuck with her. “Strange, the small things you remember.” 

She gets up suddenly, moves desperately to the mantel, lights one of her husband’s favorite cigarettes and taking deep breaths of the smoke, tells herself slowly, but repeatedly that he is the person she is mourning.


End file.
